Through the Dark Portal - Part 1

My nostrils were assailed as we drew close to the crater - A smell of reeking sulfur mixed with the hellish stench of demons wafted in clouds of fuminating smoke from the scattered rubble about our feet. Fallenblood the Farstrider kicked a few stones out of the way as he walked, heavy-footed, alongside me. A close friend of mine, he had been for years. It was some wonder we had always remained friends; duties places us in very different places. I am a Spellbreaker, and he was a Ranger. Rangers handle their own problems. I turned my head, as if that could help me escape the ever-worsening smell coming from our destination.

I noticed Vannaren, who was a few paces away from the group. The only Blood Knight from the Order issued into our small contingent, he had kept quiet and to himself for the entirety of this journey. I could see his nostrils flare ever so subtly at the nauseating reek of fel corruption, but then again I could have been seeing things. It was hot here. Hotter than the deepest bowls of Blackrock Mountain, I would guess. And besides, Vannaren was no doubt a master at hiding his physical discomfort. A different breed, Blood Knights are.

I turned back to look ahead, my eyes stinging from the smog surrounding this vast stone structure... The Dark Portal is without a doubt one of the most fearsome sights on Azeroth. It surprises me that my people ever passed through it, much less listened to that traitor, Kael. We were naive, I reflect now. At the time, none of us could have guessed that the mighty Blood Mage could be leading us astray. Now we know the error of our ways, though most that followed Kael'thas through that portal did not live to regret it.

This small contingent, I ought to mention, has been through the Dark Portal and back several times. It never ceases to amaze me how powerful the action is. The pull of the Twisting Nether on one's fibers is... moving, to say the least. I digress. We belong to the organization known as The Scryers. The history of The Scryers belongs in a different tale, though it will suffice to say we have broken away from err and seek redemption from the shadowed time under the Prince's rule. We have been acting as emissaries to the Sin'Dorei in Silvermoon, hoping to bring more of our people into The Scryers, and, though I cannot stand to be in that accursed city for long, I feel like we are doing right.

Tellivira seemed to be having a terrible time. The poor little mage was trying desperately to hide her face in the folds of her robes, but obviously there wasn't enough of the material on her body to spare. Poor girl. Aanden was laughing at her, I think. He seemed to truly think nothing of the stench! I say that's mighty of him. Though, without his faithful dragonhawk, he seemed naked to me. Poor Dragonhawk Rider. I grin as I write this.

We drew to the steps of the Portal, then, and stood for a long while. Something strange caused us to pause for a moment, and I think Vannaren had heard it first; his shield and blade were out of their holds and ready nigh-instantly. And then a chilling cry came through the Portal, something like a bestial roar and a hideous shriek at the same time. Livingsun the priest, who had been near the front of the group, came running back, clearly terrified. Vannaren was running in then, but toward what, we weren't sure.